Invisible man - Ralph Ellison [36]
I went out on the balcony, seeing the tops of their heads. They were still milling around, the juke box baying, the piano thumping, and over at the end of the room, drenched with beer, Supercargo lay like a spent horse upon the bar.
Starting down, I noticed a large piece of ice glinting in the remains of an abandoned drink and seized its coldness in my hot hand and hurried back to the room.
The vet sat staring at Mr. Norton, who now breathed with a slightly irregular sound.
"You were quick," the man said, as he stood and reached for the ice. "Swift with the speed of anxiety," he added, as if to himself. "Hand me that clean towel -- there, from beside the basin."
I handed him one, seeing him fold the ice inside it and apply it to Mr. Norton's face.
"Is he all right?" I said.
"He will be in a few minutes. What happened to him?"
"I took him for a drive," I said.
"Did you have an accident or something?"
"No," I said. "He just talked to a farmer and the heat knocked him out . . . Then we got caught in the mob downstairs."
"How old is he?"
"I don't know, but he's one of the trustees . . ."
"One of the very first, no doubt," he said, dabbing at the blue-veined eyes. "A trustee of consciousness."
"What was that?" I asked.
"Nothing . . . There now, he's coming out of it."
I had an impulse to run out of the room. I feared what Mr. Norton would say to me, the expression that might come into his eyes. And yet, I was afraid to leave. My eyes could not leave the face with its flickering lids. The head moved from side to side in the pale glow of the light bulb, as though denying some insistent voice which I could not hear. Then the lids opened, revealing pale pools of blue vagueness that finally solidified into points that froze upon the vet, who looked down unsmilingly.
Men like us did not look at a man like Mr. Norton in that manner, and I stepped hurriedly forward.
"He's a real doctor, sir," I said.
"I'll explain," the vet said. "Get a glass of water."
I hesitated. He looked at me firmly. "Get the water," he said, turning to help Mr. Norton to sit up.
Outside I asked Edna for a glass of water and she led me down the hall to a small kitchen, drawing it for me from a green old-fashioned cooler.
"I got some good liquor, baby, if you want to give him a drink," she said.
"This will do," I said. My hands trembled so that the water spilled. When I returned, Mr. Norton was sitting up unaided, carrying on a conversation with the vet.
"Here's some water, sir," I said, extending the glass.
He took it. "Thank you," he said.
"Not too much," the vet cautioned.
"Your diagnosis is exactly that of my specialist," Mr. Norton said, "and I went to several fine physicians before one could diagnose it. How did you know?"
"I too was a specialist," the vet said.
"But how? Only a few men in the whole country possess the knowledge --"
"Then one of them is an inmate of a semi-madhouse," the vet said. "But there's nothing mysterious about it. I escaped for a while -- I went to France with the Army Medical Corps and remained there after the Armistice to study and practice."
"Oh yes, and how long were you in France?" Mr. Norton asked.
"Long enough," he said. "Long enough to forget some fundamentals which I should never have forgotten."
"What fundamentals?" Mr. Norton said. "What do you mean?"
The vet smiled and cocked his head. "Things about life. Such things as most peasants and folk peoples almost always know through experience, though seldom through conscious thought . . ."
"Pardon me, sir," I said to Mr. Norton, "but now that you feel better, shouldn't we go?"
"Not just yet," he said. Then to the doctor, "I'm very interested. What happened to you?" A drop of water caught in one of his eyebrows glittered like a chip of active diamond. I went over and sat on a chair. Damn this vet to hell!
"Are you sure you would like to hear?" the vet asked.
"Why, of course."
"Then perhaps the young fellow should go downstairs and wait . . ."
The sound of shouting and destruction welled up from below as I opened the door.
"No, perhaps